“Hilarious,” I say, though I can’t keep the grin off my face.
They’re still going as we cross the gravel and pile into the car, slamming the doors behind us.
Reed jams the key into the ignition, and his hand freezes before he turns it, the laughter dying in his throat. Bram’s grin slips next. Then mine. The car goes quiet.
“So she’s actually going,” Reed says softly.
“Yeah,” Bram says quietly. He stares off toward the tree line, his jaw tight. “She is.”
My chest aches, damn.
It’s stupid. Scent match aside, I just met her. And yet, a part of me wishes we hadn’t come. That we’d let the cancellation stand so she’d be forced to stay with us.
Real classy, Ash.
“It’s better for her,” I say despite my thoughts, leaning back against the backseat.
“Yeah...” Reed says.
Bram twists in the passenger seat, looking at Reed, then me. “We’re her scent matches, she’ll be back. Besides, we still have today with her.”
For a long minute, none of us says a word. We just sit there, staring at the dash.
“Come on,” I finally say, clapping a hand on Reed’s shoulder. “Let’s go see her.”
12
Luna
“Tomorrow morning, perfect. Thank you, Chloe. Honestly, thank you so much.”
I end the call and slide the phone back into the pocket of my shorts.
For a second I just stand there in the middle of the row. The sun beats down on the back of my neck, warm and heavy through the leaves, and the knot that’s been wedged behind my sternum since I checked my email this morning finally lets go.
Crisis: handled.I drag a steadying breath through my fingers and bite the inside of my cheek to keep my grin small. No need to tempt fate.
And yet, somewhere under all that relief, something tugs the wrong way... like I’m packing the wrong bag or something.
Nope.I shake my head, hard.Not entertaining this. I’ve been looking forward to this retreat for months. I can always come back here after.
I turn back to my tree and reach for the cluster I was working on—apples the size of an alpha’s fist, deep red, heavier than they look. Beside me, Jenna’s shears tick away at the next branch.
“Good news?” she asks, eyes on her branch.
“Very good news. I got my spot back.”
“Oh,” Jenna lowers the shears and turns, her whole face crinkling. “That’s amazing.” She gives me a one-shouldered squeeze and goes back to picking, humming.
I roll my neck. Let the sun get at the back of it. With this handled, I guess there’s nothing preventing me from getting back to the tree in front of me.
I stare at it for a beat. Jenna and I have been picking from this same tree for, what, two and a half hours? Three? And the upper third is still loaded, every branch sagging. At my feet, seven crates wait to go to the cooler. Seven crates. For one tree. And we’re far from finished.
I look up the row, down the row, past Jenna. Trees and trees and trees, every one of them as fat as the one in front of me, and basically nobody to tend to them.
I turn to Jenna. “Where is everyone?”
She glances over. “Hm?”
